


Lionheart

by ASongofIceandHope



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/M, Gryffindor!Tom AU, kind of, tomione - Freeform, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 15:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15633618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASongofIceandHope/pseuds/ASongofIceandHope
Summary: “I don’t want to be bad,” Tom stated. “I want to be powerful. Like Professor Dumbledore.” As if he knew he’d found a kindred spirit in Hermione, he turned to her. “I read somewhere that he defeated the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald while Grindelwald was in possession of this thing called the Elder Wand. I want to be that powerful someday...”Ron took a large swallow of his food and wiped his face on his sleeve. “Then you’ll have to be in Gryffindor, mate,” he said. “Professor Dumbledore was in Gryffindor.”





	Lionheart

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> This is based on a couple pictures of Tom Hughes floating around tumblr where he totally looks like the Gryffindor version of Tom.
> 
> So, this AU was born. Tom Riddle is at school with the Golden Trio, but Lord Voldemort is also trying to come back as he is in canon. My Tom that I’ve written is supposed to be another side-effect of Voldemort’s destruction via Lily’s sacrifice; he’s a bit of a reincarnation. Therefore, he isn’t really like the Tom we all know and love who is in Slytherin. But he also shares some similar traits, I think. 
> 
> Without further adieu, enjoy!

The boy with the too-neat black hair stood in the doorway of the car. His knees were a little scabby and his jumper threadbare, but Hermione smiled warmly at him anyway. She had seen him on the platform with a worn, secondhand trunk and not a single adult accompanying him. Her parents had seen him as well and assumed he must have been a foster kid, which had made Hermione’s heart go out to him instantly. She had always had a passion for taking in lost or unwanted things. Until she received her Hogwarts letter, she had often felt like something of a lost thing herself.

“Are... Are you Hermione?” he asked, a hint of pride beneath the soft inquiry. She watched as he tugged at the sleeve of his jumper, which was sliding down his arm to cover his hands.

“Yes I am,” Hermione replied. “Would you care to join us?” Harry and Ron, her newest acquaintances, seemed to want to protest, but the boy shuffled in, eying the other two boys warily. A soft hissing came from the boy’s pocket, making Ron jump in shock. 

Slithering out of his pocket was a typical garden snake, which wrapped itself around the boy’s wrist. He seemed surprised by the fact that neither Harry or Hermione were scared of it.

“I’m Tom,” the boy stuck his right hand out for a shake. “Tom Riddle.”

“Hermione Granger,” Hermione returned, taking it without fear of the snake that seemed to be looking at her. “But of course you already knew that. That’s Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. We’re all first years.”

Tom cocked his head to the side and looked at Hermione questioningly. “I know. Professor Dumbledore told me about you. That you’re a muggleborn like me.”

“Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Tom,” Hermione nodded. 

Ron was too busy watching Tom interact with his pet snake to care about the pleasantries Hermione was exchanging with him. “Can... Can that thing understand you?” he asked. By the way Tom tensed, Hermione could tell he had taken offense.

“You’re being rude, Ronald,” she chided.

“I’m just asking,” Ron retorted. “No harm in asking.” He turned to Harry and stuffed his mouth full of treacle tart before speaking. “There’s no way that one won’t be in Slytherin. And there’s not a wizard who’s gone bad who hasn’t been in Slytherin.”

“I don’t want to be bad,” Tom stated. “I want to be powerful. Like Professor Dumbledore.” As if he knew he’d found a kindred spirit in Hermione, he turned to her. “I read somewhere that he defeated the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald while Grindelwald was in possession of this thing called the Elder Wand. I want to be that powerful someday...”

Ron took a large swallow of his food and wiped his face on his sleeve. “Then you’ll have to be in Gryffindor, mate,” he said. “Professor Dumbledore was in Gryffindor.”

*****

Tom watched as Hermione walked forward and sat on the rickety old stool in front of the entire student body. His hands felt damp and her wiped them on the front of his cloak. From inside his pocket, Nagini hissed words of encouragement to him while he waited for his turn. 

Up at the head table, Dumbledore watched him with twinkling eyes. He wondered if Dumbledore thought he was meant for Slytherin, just like the stupid boy on the train.

“Tom Riddle!” the older witch in emerald robes, Professor McGonagall, called.

Making his way to the front, Tom summoned every ounce of courage he had as he sat down on the stool. The old, worn hat began to talk to him in his head, which was rather unnerving.

_Ah yes, the one I’ve heard so much about. It goes without saying that you have cunning and ambition... not a bad mind either. Not a Hufflepuff, to be sure, but where to put you? In Ravenclaw, where they will nourish your mind? In Slytherin, where you’ll make life-long friends? Or in Gryffindor, where you feel you have something to prove?_

‘Please put me in Gryffindor,’ Tom thought to the hat.

_Are you sure? You could do great things in Slytherin._

‘I want to be brave,’ he told the Sorting Hat.

“Very well then... better be... GRYFFINDOR!” the hat declared. 

Tom felt strange when Hermione beamed at him as he sat down beside her.

*****

“That is one big dog,” Ron gulped. Harry and Hermione nodded in nervous agreement.

Tom furrowed his brow and thought about the spells he’d read in the Advanced Charms book he had bought in the used book store. Pushing up his sleeves, he pointed his wand at the monstrous, slobbering creature.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this,” he assured.

*****

“Don’t look so glum, Tom,” Hermione whispered as they all gathered in the Great Hall for the end of the year feast. The display of green and silver made him sick, especially after all he, Hermione, Harry and Ron went through to stop Quirrell and Voldemort from getting their hands on the Sorcerer’s Stone. “At least everyone is safe. We did the right thing.”

“But it’s not fair,” he huffed. “We risked our lives for everyone!”

“I know,” she sighed. “But sometimes it feels nice to do something without getting recognition.”

Dumbledore interrupted everyone in the middle of the feast. Tom’s jaw dropped as Dumbledore rewarded Hermione and Ron with fifty points each for their bravery. Harry received sixty points. He then awarded Neville Longbottom ten points for standing up to all of them. A bit of jealousy flared up in the pit of Tom’s stomach when he thought that Dumbledore had forgotten him. 

But then, he continued.

“And while Gryffindor is known for being a house of courage and bravery, it goes without saying that those traits that those of Gryffindor House pride themselves in come easier to some than others,” Dumbledore stated. “For some, courage and bravery require a choice. And for making the choice to stand bravely alongside his classmates and for a rare display of courage when making his way past a Cerberus, I reward Tom Riddle with sixty points.”

As the Gryffindors all cheered, Hermione reached out and grabbed Tom’s hand. He couldn’t believe it. Dumbledore had awarded him with just as many points as Harry! Harry, who was the poster child for everything a Gryffindor should be, Harry who actually faced Quirrell and the disfigured Voldemort.

He belonged.

It felt... nice.

*****

Hermione and Tom sat together on the train ride to school the following year. She was worried sick, as no one had seen Harry or Ron on the platform. While he was slightly concerned, Tom was trying not to show it. It was better for him to try and stay level-headed while Hermione worried. His mind was also, admittedly, on Quidditch tryouts. Professor Dumbledore had sent him a brand new Nimbus 2001 over the summer, and Tom had been itching to fly it. 

“What if someone took them?” Hermione wondered. “What if one of You-Know-Who’s followers decided to finally get revenge for last year? What if—”

“Hermione, I can’t hear myself think,” Tom told her. “Maybe they just missed the train.”

“How can you be so blasé about this?!” Hermione shrieked. 

“Because Harry and Ron always turn up eventually,” Tom retorted. “Now please, for Merlin’s sake, shut it.”

A quiet fell over their train car as it rattled along on the tracks. 

Nevertheless, Tom didn’t hear the end of it when Harry and Ron arrived by flying car and were nearly killed by the Whomping Willow.

*****

“I’m not letting you walk around the corridors by yourself.”

“I’ll be fine, Tom.”

“No you won’t! You don’t know what it’s saying, Hermione!”

“What is it saying?”

“... ‘Kill.’”

She pressed a page into his hand. It was torn out of a library book. 

He was shocked. Hermione would never do harm to her beloved books.

“I think I know what it is,” she said.

*****

She had given him the paper less than twenty-four hours before she herself would be petrified. Tom sat in the infirmary, his rage almost palpable from the electric energy surrounding him via his magic. For a moment, he wanted revenge. He wanted to hurt the thing or the person or whatever that had hurt her. But he knew Hermione wouldn’t want him to do that. She would want him to fix the problem.

Due to having heard the Basilisk slither its way around the castle, Tom had pinpointed a location that made sense for the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Moaning Myrtle’s presence in the bathroom he suspected made him nearly ninety percent sure that her bathroom held the entrance. 

He left Harry and Ron behind in the dust as he searched for something with a serpent on it. Finding a sink with the marking, Tom ordered it to open. 

The leap into the tunnel made his heart pound, but he knew he had to do it. If he didn’t put a stop to all the nonsense, someone could get killed. And he couldn’t stand by and let that happen when he had the power and abilities to do something about it.

The Chamber felt familiar, in a sense, as if he had known it in another life. Nearly lifeless on the cold stone floor was Ron’s little sister Ginny, who was clutching a little black book to her chest. 

“Funny,” a voice stated that sounded like a more mature version of his own. “You are not who I expected at all.”

Tom whirled around to face an older version of himself, dressed in Slytherin robes. The young man seemed equally surprised at the sight of him, and crossed his arms over his chest. Tom clenched his fists at his sides.

“Let Ginny Weasley go,” he ordered. “And stop all this nonsense!”

The young man seemed to ignore every word he’d said as he circled him predatorily. “It would seem that when I was destroyed my soul was fractured even more than once thought,” he hummed. “A complete reincarnation. A second chance. Peculiar.”

“What are you talking about?” Tom hissed. 

“See for yourself.” The young man pointed a wand at the book in Ginny’s arms. It floated through the air and landed in Tom’s hands. It was embossed with the name “T.M. Riddle,” which just so happened to be Tom’s initials. “You, somehow, are me. Which means that you ought to give up your desperate attempt to please that old fool Dumbledore and embrace your destiny.”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “My what?”

The young man turned from him and, in flaming, crackling letters, wrote out the name “Tom Marvolo Riddle.” Then, with a wave of his wand, the letters rearranged themselves in something Tom did not want to see:

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

Voldemort turned to him with a smug grin, as if he expected him to fall to his feet and praise him. Which, Tom supposed, was probably exactly what he thought he would do.

“No,” Tom grit his teeth. “I’m not you! I am better than you!” In his rage, he couldn’t hear Fawkes flying through the Chamber to drop the Sorting Hat at his feet. “I... I helped defeat you! Just last year, I made sure Harry Potter destroyed you!”

Voldemort simply laughed.

“Try as you might, Tom Riddle, you cannot escape your destiny.”

And then, he summoned the Basilisk. 

*****

The first face Hermione saw when she awoke was Tom’s. And she was fairly certain he looked far worse than she did. There was a deep cut running through his right eyebrow and also slashing his cheek. His hair was matted in blood that she strongly doubted was his own. And when her eyes met his, he did something Hermione had never thought she’d see him do: Tom Riddle broke down in tears.

“I’ll never hurt you,” he swore. “I promise, Hermione! I’ll never hurt you. Never!” 

Gently running her hand through his thick hair, she sighed.

“I know you won’t, Tom.”

*****

Tom sat in Dumbledore’s office, still bloodied and tattered, but alive. The Sword Of Gryffindor hung loosely in his hand, as did the ruined diary. He still didn’t want to believe what the... specter in the Chamber had said to him. But with the way he had almost been able to lure the Basilisk to its own demise... Tom wasn’t quite sure.

But Dumbledore sat in his great chair with a knowing look, a kind look. 

“I once knew a boy who made all the wrong choices,” he began. “I also knew a boy who was told that he had to choose. One of them continued down the path of destruction that, unfortunately, led to your appearance on the steps of a foster home that early August day. The other... paid dearly for his earlier choices, but learned a valuable lesson.”

“What did he learn?” Tom asked.

“That help will always be given at Hogwarts to those that ask, Tom,” Dumbledore stated. “Now go on; I’m sure Mr. Potter and Miss Granger will be wondering where you are.”

With that reminder, Tom set the sword and diary down on Dumbledore’s desk. As he turned to exit the Headmaster’s Office, he stopped just short of the door.

“Professor? Was I... meant to be in Slytherin?” he questioned.

“When left to its own devices, the Sorting Hat will read the most prominent of traits and dig as little as it can to make its decision,” Dumbledore replied. “But it will always listen. And I don’t think you’re alone in Gryffindor when it comes to those who have asked for the hat to look beyond what it sees.” The old man paused for a minute. “Have a nice summer, Tom.”

Tom couldn’t help but wonder who Dumbledore was referring to; Ron, Hermione and Harry were all perfect Gryffindors. He was the only one who didn’t quite fit in. 

He wasn’t like them.

He didn’t belong.

*****

He sat further away from her on the train than he had the past two years when they left for third year. 

She didn’t say a word.

*****

Tom’s boggart was strange, Hermione noted.

It was an older version of him.

And he was hurting her.

*****

“Why have you been avoiding me?” she finally asked when she cornered him in the library. Perhaps it wasn’t the most tactful move, but she knew that tact wasn’t her speciality. “There’s a madman on the loose who’s trying to kill Harry and you haven’t been helping or talking to any of us!”

“But most importantly I haven’t been talking to you,” Tom drawled. 

“I didn’t say that,” Hermione huffed. “I said you’ve been avoiding me. That’s different.” She pushed a rogue curl from her face before clenching her fists at her sides. “And if even if that’s what I cared about it doesn’t give you the right to act like this! To ignore your friends!”

“Well maybe you all aren’t supposed to be my friends.”

“Why would you say that?” 

“Why not? It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

*****

He sat with Draco Malfoy of all people the next day in Potions.

Hermione tried to ignore the hurt feeling blooming in her chest, but it was hard. Too hard. She felt a tear slip down her nose and heard the Slytherins start to laugh at her. 

When she looked up, he was the only one amongst the sea of green who wasn’t laughing. 

*****

Dumbledore called him into his office the day after his noteworthy betrayal of his friends. Even Tom was loathe to admit that sitting with Malfoy was not worth the potential rise in his image it promised. It was better to be himself; though who he was these days was a matter of slight confusion for him. 

“You’ve worried Miss Granger a great deal, Tom,” Dumbledore said. “She says you aren’t yourself this year.”

“With all due respect, Professor, I’m not quite sure who I am anymore,” Tom stated. 

“I see. Growing up in and of itself is a difficult thing, Tom. But when you carry a weight with you such as the load you and Mr. Potter have been forced to carry... it can seem impossible at times to bear. I would advise you not to look to those who have tried to tell you who you are, but inwardly, toward yourself. That boy who sat in front of his fellow first years and decided he wanted to be a Gryffindor knows much more about you than some old ghost.” 

“Well, I wanted to be in Gryffindor because I want to be as great as you someday, Professor,” Tom admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

Dumbledore smiled a warm smile but said nothing more.

*****

He sat much closer to her on the trip home.

She didn’t say a word.

*****

Fourth Year proved so difficult and trying for all of them that by the time the bloody Yule Ball is staring them all in the face none of them have the energy to devote to it. Tom’s name had been the one to flutter out of the Goblet of Fire against all odds, and Hermione and Harry had been helping him through the different challenges he faced.

So when Tom brought up the dance while sitting in the common room with Hermione doing Charms homework, she was taken aback.

“You want to go... to the ball... with me?” she repeated back to him, brow furrowing. “Why?”

Tom had grown into one of the more attractive boys in school. Unlike Harry and Ron, he hadn’t let his hair grow out too long and become shaggy and a bit annoying. It wasn’t as neat as he wore it when they were children, but still sat on his forehead in soft waves. His face was regal and sharp and elegant, and Hermione personally thought he was even handsomer than Cedric Diggory.

Compared to Tom, Hermione saw herself as nothing but plain.

“Why wouldn’t I want to go with you?” Tom replied. “You are the only girl in the school that I would want to spend an entire night with. Besides, it’ll be fun. I think.” He wrinkled his nose slightly and it made his mature features seem childish for just a moment.

“Alright,” Hermione laughed. “I’ll go with you.”

*****

“She looks beautiful,” Parvati Patil breathed. 

At the sound of obvious female envy, Tom turned from his heated conversation with Oliver Wood about the outcome of the Quidditch World Cup. He watched as Hermione descended the stairs leading to the girls’ dormitories with awe. She was wearing soft, fluttering robes of periwinkle blue and her hair was tamed into a simple updo.

Making his way through the whispering flocks of students waiting for their dates, Tom reached Hermione with a proffered arm. She took it with a small grin and a blush.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured in her ear.

Hermione swatted at him playfully. “Don’t lie, Tom Riddle,” she muttered. “Now you... you look... dashing, really.” 

It wasn’t fair, she thought. He had the simplest dress robes of any of the boys in the school and yet he looked twice as good. The clean lines and simple black robes suited him; he looked like he’d stepped out of an old movie. And here he had plain old Hermione Granger in his arm. She knew Fleur Delacour had had her eye on him, but Tom rejected plenty of girls only to ask Hermione.

“I’m not lying, Hermione,” Tom stated. “I don’t like liars, therefore I don’t lie.”

They said nothing more about each other’s appearances and made their way down to the Great Hall. The familiar space had been transformed into an icy, glistening winter wonderland. Hermione and Tom found themselves steered into a line with the other Triwizard Champions, as McGonagall had informed them that it was tradition for the champions and their dates to share the first dance. 

They were right behind Cedric and Cho, who both turned to them.

“Riddle.”

“Diggory.”

“You look lovely Cho.”

“So do you, Hermione.”

The Durmstrang Champion, Viktor Krum, led the couples into the Hall when a swell of music began. Hermione felt a bit nervous at the amount of people staring at her on Tom’s arm, but when she stole a glance up at him, he looked nothing but proud so she imitated his expression. 

Tom’s hands felt strong and sure in how they clasped her hand and her waist. He was a good lead, and as the band began to play Hermione was fairly certain her feet had been charmed to hover a few inches from the ground. She looked up at Tom through her eyelashes as he stood nearly head and shoulders over her. He was smiling slightly at her and it made her blush.

After they had danced a few dances, Tom went to go get them some punch. Pansy Parkinson walked up to her in some nightmarishly gaudy thing and sneered.

“Enjoy your time with him, mudblood,” she mocked. “Draco says that Tom will be moving on to bigger and better things soon enough.”

“I’m sure you’d know,” Hermione said. “What with that big mouth of yours.”

“You little bit—” Pansy began to draw her wand, but as soon as it was partially raised, it flew from her hand into a crowd of dancing students. Hermione looked in the direction of the Expellarimus and smiled at the sight of Tom, who was managing to levitate two drinks while wielding his wand. 

“Evening, Pansy,” Tom greeted, biting back a smirk. “You might want to go get that.”

“I could have handled her,” Hermione told him as he sat down beside her and handed her a cup. “Pansy is nothing but incompetent in Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

“I know she is,” Tom laughed. “Called me old-fashioned, but seeing as you’re my date, I feel obliged to protect you.” 

Their eyes met for what had to be the hundredth time that night, but it felt different. Hermione felt her heart both accelerate but slow; it ached in a weird way that wasn’t completely unpleasant, but was still strange. Her lips parted as she searched for something to say to him, but she was at a loss. 

It was a very brief kiss; Tom gently cupped her cheek and their lips brushed for just a moment. But it was enough to confirm for Hermione that she certainly liked kissing him.

“Let’s dance again,” she murmured.

“That sounds like a good plan,” Tom grinned.

They were some of the last students in the Great Hall and when the night was over they started walking hand-in-hand through the halls. There was something off about Tom, Hermione noticed, but she didn’t want to ask. She knew it was better to leave Tom to his own thoughts.

“I want to show you something,” Tom whispered to her. 

“O-Okay,” Hermione said.

When they reached their destination, or what Hermione thought was their intended destination, she frowned. “Tom, this is Myrtle’s bathroom.”

“Shh,” he smiled slightly. She could see how his eyes were shining with a level of excitement she didn’t associate with him. “There’s more. But... you’ve got to promise me something. You’ve got to promise me that no matter what I’m about to show you that you’ll still think of me as Tom. Just Tom.”

“What are you worried about?” Hermione asked. “Tom, what—”

“Just promise me.” He grabbed her hand, squeezing it slightly.

“I... I promise,” she mumbled.

*****

The beautiful periwinkle dress was ruined, courtesy of the tunnel down to the Chamber. But Tom loved how she didn’t seem to care. She trudged along beside him, her analytical mind working into overdrive as she started to put the pieces together. And when they reached the Chamber itself and she laid her eyes on the decaying Basilisk, she put it all together. 

“You... You’re the Heir of Slytherin?” Her eyes were wide and Tom could see fear growing in them. 

“Yes, I suppose I am, but Hermione... I killed the Basilisk. I said no to Salazar Slytherin’s wish that Hogwarts be rid of muggleborns like you,” he told her, reaching to take her hand. Hermione drew away from him. “Hermione... please don’t be like this. You promised me.”

“I know what I said, Tom, but that’s before... before I knew what you are!” she cried. 

“Hermione—” Tom reached for her again, but she pushed him away. 

“No. Just... Just stay away from me!” she sniffed, running back the way they came. 

*****

He sat alone on the train ride, the Triwizard Cup in the seat next to him.

*****

If she had to hear any more about Tom’s latest escapades, Hermione was going to Obliviate herself. Unfortunately, Harry and Ron clearly didn’t feel the same way, as they were part of the herd of boys clinging to the new Prefect’s every word. 

“And then I finally was able to get her out of her panties, and...” 

“Ugh, have you no decency?” Hermione finally shouted, slamming the book she had been attempting to read down on the table in front of her. “Honestly!”

The boys all chuckled and Tom smirked in her direction.

“She’s just too sexually repressed,” Ron joked, earning a few laughs for himself.

“Oh, like you’re not?” Hermione sniffed. After she’d successfully shoved her book into her bookbag, she got to her feet, looming over Tom’s reclined figure and poking his chest. “How dare you speak so ill of a young woman who trusted you enough to let you be her first. There is nothing noble or courageous about that.”

“I agree,” Tom hummed. “It’s much more... cunning... of me.”

“Unbelievable,” Hermione snorted. With a sharp pivot on her heel, she stormed out of the common room and down to the library. At least at the library, Tom couldn’t talk so loudly about his conquests.

But the little doubting voice in the back of her head that was telling her she was jealous of those girls only got louder.

*****

“So you got caught.” She crossed her arms.

“Yes.”

“By Umbridge.”

“Yes.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

He scratched the back of his neck.

“Tom. What were you doing?”

“I... was getting head from Daphne Greengrass.”

“And so Umbridge had you write ‘I will not commit adultery’ with that evil quill of hers?”

“Yes.”

“I hate to say it, but you kind of deserve it.”

“Thanks, Hermione.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She turned to walk away and he called after her. “So you’re speaking to me again?”

He watched. She turned back.

“I suppose I am.”

*****

The student body all clustered around as Filch nailed yet another decree above the entrance of the Great Hall. Hermione stood beside Parvati and Lavender as they read the newest rule being handed down to them.

“FROM THIS POINT ON THERE WILL BE NO ‘MIXING’ OF BOYS AND GIRLS FROM DIFFERENT HOUSES”

A small snort left Hermione, as she knew exactly who was responsible for such a rule. 

“I guess it’s just you and me now, Granger.” 

She nearly jumped out of her skin with how soft and low his voice was behind her, but Hermione regained her composure enough to stick her chin up and frown when she turned to face him.

“I have no intention of allowing you to be my first, Riddle,” she stated, though her voice wavered as he licked his lips slightly.

“You don’t sound very convincing,” he teased.

*****

Hermione was staring up at Umbridge as the old toad droned on about the theory of Defence Against the Dark Arts when she felt something slither up her calf. She jumped slightly to find a charmed piece of paper in the shape of a snake resting in her lap. There was only one person she knew who sent notes in such a fashion, and he was sitting three rows behind her. 

_Raise your hand and ask to go to the bathroom. I’ll follow in... five minutes._

_Third floor broom closet?_

_Cheers,_  
_Tom_

Hermione shivered, but slowly raised her hand. Umbridge dismissed her with a sneer and she slipped out of the classroom to the arranged meeting spot. She stared at her wristwatch and in five minutes on the dot the closet door opened and Tom slipped inside. 

“Is this really where you meet all of your... hookups?” she questioned.

“No,” Tom admitted. “I’ve found the prefects’ bathroom to be a great place to meet if you want to break curfew.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Hermione teased, though she felt breathless when their eyes met and Tom placed his hands against the wall on either side of her head. 

“Am I?” His grin was positively devilish as he finally leaned in and captured her lips with his.

It was worlds away from the shy, sweet kiss they’d shared at the Yule Ball. For starters, Tom took control of the situation immediately, his hands moving from their position against the wall to grab Hermione by the waist and pull her against him. A pleased little hum escaped her lips, and she tangled her fingers in his hair, mussing his meticulous waves. Her back slammed against the wall and she groaned, but the groan was followed by a soft moan as Tom soon began to attack her neck, nipping and sucking with the goal of leaving marks all over her skin on his mind.

“Don’t stop,” Hermione panted as Tom’s hands started to roam around her body. 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he smirked against her skin. 

She jumped a little when his hand rested against the inside of her thigh; it was an unfamiliar touch in an area Hermione herself had never explored much. Her heart was pounding as his confident, strong touch moved further and further and higher and higher until Tom found his objective. If her face wasn’t already flushed from the great snogging, it turned bright red when he circled the dampened crotch of her plain cotton panties. 

“Is this all for me?” Tom traced the shell of her ear with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from Hermione. Her hand wrapped around his wrist as he began to rub her sensitive bud over her panties, the friction making her breathing heavy and eyes flutter shut.

“Y-Yes...” Hermione moaned. “Oh...!”

Just as she felt herself unravel in a way she never had before, the door swung open. Tom was expecting to find himself face-to-face with Umbridge, Filch or perhaps Snape. But instead, an incredulous Ron Weasley was glaring at the two of them. 

“Unbelievable,” he scowled.

Pulling her skirt back into place (Hermione wondered how it had hitched itself up so high), she reached out to Ron, who awkwardly avoided her grasp. “Ron, wait, it’s not what it looks like!”

“Oh, really? And just what does finding your best friend in a broom closet with Tom Riddle look like? Don’t waste my time, Hermione. I hope you’re happy.”

*****

“Meet me in the seventh floor hallway at nine o’clock,” Tom whispered to her when he found her in her favorite spot in the library. Her nose was buried in a book about the Ministry of Magic and her hair was piled on top of her head. Hermione smiled and beamed at him.

“Okay,” she whispered back. “See you then.”

*****

She nestled into his side, lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of the train. Tom watched Hermione sleep and was taken aback by how comfortable she was with him. Comfort and intimacy were two things he couldn’t have imagined when he was a child; getting comfortable always seemed like a one-way ticket to having to move on. 

Right before she fell asleep, Hermione had told him that her parents had invited him to spend the summer with them. They were going on holiday to Inverness, which meant he’d have about three weeks of hiking and exploring and having Hermione all to himself.

Which, in Tom’s honest opinion, sounded like heaven.

Tenderly running his hand through her hair, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple. 

“‘Hear my soul speak,’” he sighed, thinking of the play he and Hermione had read the summer between their third and fourth year. “‘The very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service.’”

“Mm,” Hermione stirred at the sound of his voice. “Quoting Shakespeare to me, are you?”

“Of course,” Tom teased softly. “Do you like it?”

She stared up at him from her position in his lap. 

“I like you,” she said.

*****

The train ride home the following year was so far from the train ride they’d shared after fifth year that they were night and day. They both were still in their mourning clothes and Hermione held Tom’s hand loosely as she stared at the wall ahead of her like a zombie. 

Dumbledore was dead. Which meant none of them were safe.

“Hermione,” he whispered, as if trying to speak to a spooked animal. “It... It’s going to be alright. I’ll protect you.” She turned to look at him, bloodshot eyes shining with sadness and hurt.

“No one can protect anyone,” she mumbled. “You can’t protect me, I can’t protect you, we can’t protect Harry... and now Harry’s on some wild idea about hunting horcruxes to we can defeat Voldemort and yet...” 

Tom cupped her cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “Since when have you been a quitter, Hermione Granger? Or a doubter?”

A shuddering breath wracked her body and she managed a sorrowful smile for him. 

“He doesn’t want you to go with us, Tom.”

Hermione watched Tom’s face fall.

“Why?”

“He... He doesn’t want to give Voldemort another reason to want to find us. Supposedly he’s been curious about how you came to be. And... Dumbledore wanted someone on the inside, to keep track of what’s going on at Hogwarts,” she explained. “He had told Harry that, since you are the Heir of Slytherin, that you’d have the best chance of surviving if Voldemort’s supporters infiltrated the school.”

“And you agree with all this?”

“Not really,” Hermione admitted. “You’re the best wizard out of all of us, Tom. I think it would be better if you came with us.”

“But?” He raised a brow.

“But I do think you would be a good leader for those who will still be at Hogwarts. It would take a lot of bravery to do that,” she placed a hand on his chest and kissed his lips gently. “And I’ll be back before you know it.”

Tom kissed her back and sighed. “How can you be sure?”

“I’m not. But you and I have a strange talent for coming back to each other.”

Even with that being said, it didn’t feel like enough to Tom. He held his breath for a moment, searching for the right way to say what he wanted to say. But finding that there was no right way to bring it up, the words burst from him as if he were some buffoon.

“I want to have a handfasting ceremony,” he said. “Well, I... I want to get married. And I don’t want to wait to see if we make it to the other side of whatever sort of conflict is building up.”

Hermione looked shocked.

“What... What brought this on?” she inquired.

Tom took her hand more firmly and turned in his seat to face her better. “I’ve been thinking about it since last summer, if I’m being honest,” he told her. “Do you remember how we happened upon a muggle handfasting up in Scotland? When we were trying to find that stone circle? I just thought... even if it’s just the two of us and maybe Harry as our witness, it’s better than nothing. Then I’m yours and you’re mine.”

There was a hush over the train compartment for a moment as Hermione searched his eyes for something. She was in complete disbelief, but she was... excited. 

“Are you sure it’s right? With Dumbledore gone and Bill and Fleur’s wedding...”

“We can do it right after we get off the train. Merlin, we could get Harry in here and do it now. I... I already kind of got you a ring...” Tom fished around in his pocket and pulled out a simple silver band, offering it to her with a shy smile. “I might not always show you how much I care about you. And I might not be as loving or affectionate as you wish. But you know I would do anything for you, Hermione.”

“Go get Harry,” she smiled. 

After making Harry practice saying the incantation that he was responsible for performing, Hermione and Tom joined hands. A magical handfasting was different from a muggle one in the sense that, in the wizarding world, the ceremony in and of itself was an officially binding marriage. It was also different in the sense that the couple did not get to choose the cords that bound them together; in a muggle ceremony, they were allowed to choose different colors to represent different things — white represented purity, green fertility and growth, gold wisdom, etc — while the colors that bonded a witch and wizard were a product of the incantation.

Harry began to recite the spell, moving his wand in a figure-eight motion. The first glowing cord to unwind from the tip of his wand was that of glowing gold. It represented unity and prosperity, among other things. 

Next, a stream of silver wrapped around their hands. Hermione recognized it not only as a mark of creativity and vision, but one of protection as well. 

From the way Tom smiled at her, she knew he knew that as well.

The last cord in that joined a couple was always the most important in a magical handfasting ceremony. Whatever the color, it always signified the qualities which were strongest in the couple. Hermione watched as the final cord wavered and struggled. When it finally appeared, it was a twist of white and red. Devotion and passion together were what unified them, it would seem. 

With a final repetition of the chant, Harry completed the ceremony. 

“I guess you can kiss the bride?” he joked weakly. Tom smirked and cupped Hermione’s cheek, kissing her long and hard. “I... I’ll just see myself out, then...”

*****

Tom sat on the train by himself the following September. He didn’t know where Hermione was, but she was off in the countryside somewhere, trying to come up with a way to destroy horcruxes. A new nervous tic, he twisted the silver band he wore now on his right hand — he would wear it on his left after everything was through. 

The door to his compartment slid open and he turned to find Malfoy and Blaise Zabini standing there, wands drawn.

“I don’t think you want to do this, Draco,” Tom stated, rising to his feet and drawing his wand. 

*****

It was almost too easy to slowly take the school by storm. He was Head Boy alongside some Ravenclaw girl, and since Snape was trying to keep a thin veil of impartiality, the new Headmaster let him do anything he could get away with. Sometimes Tom surprised even himself with some of the lengths he was willing to go to just to get what he wanted from the simpering Slytherins who all were afraid of him once he put Malfoy and his cronies in their places.

Even the Carrows seemed a bit scared of him, especially when he didn’t bat an eye when they made him perform a Cruciatus on another student. It made him feel sick internally, but sometimes it took some bad things to accomplish something for the greater good.

“Malfoy,” he called after his classmate, leaning against a pillar with a tension in him like that of a lion waiting to pounce. 

The blond froze but turned back to face him.

“Tom,” Malfoy greeted. “What can I do for you?”

Tom just smiled.

“Get me on the inside.”

*****

Malfoy Manor was everything he expected it would be.

*****

Malfoy Manor was everything she expected it would be.

*****

Tom wondered just what horrors he was going to walk into when Bellatrix cheerily summoned him and Draco to the dining room. Draco’s psychotic aunt had been clinging to him ever since he’d arrived at the Manor, much to Tom’s disgust; he later learned from Narcissa Malfoy that it was because he didn’t look too different from the Dark Lord before his... return. 

“Just younger,” Narcissa had told him. “But same eyes, same hair.”

He’d yet to interact with his unfortunate namesake; Voldemort tended to be off terrorizing one part of the Ministry or another. 

“Whatever you see,” Draco whispered to him as they walked down the stairs. “Don’t react.”

“ _Crucio_!” Bellatrix screeched ahead of them, her wicked curse forcing its victim to scream in pain. Tom almost froze. He knew that voice. He knew who Bellatrix was torturing. 

Pushing his way through the crowd of Death Eaters who seemed to be salivating at the sight of whatever Bellatrix was doing, Tom’s eyes grew wide when he saw just who she was torturing. His mouth went dry and he felt for his wand in his pocket for security. 

“Tom,” Hermione mouthed weakly, her voice little more than a croak. 

The wicked laugh from Bellatrix was enough to make Tom start reaching for his wand. But Draco shot him a look.

“Little mudblood thinks that the supposed heir will protect her!” she cried. 

Her comment received a few stray chuckles. Tom swallowed hard as Bellatrix motioned him to step forward. Hermione reached weakly for him, her fingers brushing the tops of his shoes. He felt like he was going to be sick and he could see his boggart from third year in the back of his mind’s eye. 

“Do it,” Bellatrix hissed. “Do it, Tom!”

Although her body was still twitching and convulsing from the after effects of the Cruciatus, Hermione nodded to Tom as if to tell him, “It’s alright. Do what you need to do.”

But the moment was interrupted. 

Draco and a few other Death Eaters hissed and looked at their forearms. Just out of reach, Bellatrix had touched her own Dark Mark, summoning Voldemort himself to Malfoy Manor. 

Tom hadn’t met the Dark Lord in person yet. His perceptions of what he was about to see game secondhand from Draco and Narcissa Malfoy. Lucius was almost too scared of him to speak to him most days, let alone describe the Dark Lord to what he thought was nothing more than a young version of him, biding his time before he could take over. 

But nothing Draco or Narcissa had said could have prepared him for the grotesque image that appeared before him in a swirl of black. 

The figure was willowy to the point of being corpse-like. His skin was paper thin and probably close to the same shade. His hands, skeletal with long fingers, were curled around the handle of a wand in an elegant manner, but the casual way in which he held a wand had an underlying tone of danger. Tom shuddered at the serpentine eyes that fixed themselves on him, but didn’t dare break eye contact.

“The boy I’ve heard so much about,” the man — the thing — chuckled. “Truly a spitting image of my younger self.” He stepped on Hermione, obviously on purpose. “And the Golden Girl. Potter’s clever friend. How... fascinating.”

“He’s hesitating, My Lord,” Bellatrix remarked. “He won’t hurt her.”

“Silence, Bella,” Voldemort purred. “I think there’s a reason why Tom won’t lay a hand on Miss Granger...” the demonic red eyes flitted from Hermione and back to Tom. “He’s in love with her. Pity.” He began to circle Hermione like a vulture circling a rotting corpse. “All books and cleverness, this one. Further proof that mudbloods would be nothing without Albus Dumbledore holding their hand every step of the way... _Crucio_.”

“Stop,” Tom ordered. “Stop! Stop this madness! I... I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Kill her,” Voldemort ordered.

“Anything but that—”

“My noble and gracious lord,” Draco interjected. “I think what Tom means is that death is too... final of a punishment for the likes of Hermione Granger. While putting her dead body on display for her friends and the Order would be quite the show, it’s a temporary solution.”

Voldemort seemed intrigued by whatever Draco was implying.

“Do go on, Draco,” he said. “Just what would you have me do to Miss Granger?”

“I... I’d give her to Tom,” Draco stated. “Not as a peace offering or anything, though. She would have a purpose. Almost like a-a slave or pet or handmaiden. We all know it’s going to be difficult repopulating the wizarding world at first. What better place for our magical lessers than to be used as brood mares by their betters? And while she isn’t much without her books, she’s the best of the mudbloods and a good gift for your heir, My Lord.”

Voldemort seemed to ponder the suggestion. 

“Strip her,” he ordered to Crabbe Sr. and Goyle Sr. “I want to see what all is being offered to Tom.” 

The two hulking figures stood Hermione up and pointed their wands at her jeans first, making them disappear. Then they magicked away her sweater, leaving her shaking and naked in front of Voldemort’s inner circle. Draco swallowed hard at the humiliating sight, while Tom himself was trying his best not to kill every man in the room. 

“Do you like what you see, Tom?” Voldemort asked.

“V-Very much, My Lord,” he replied. 

“And you, Draco?” 

“M-My Lord?” Draco stuttered. 

Voldemort laughed and grinned a wicked grin. “You surely don’t think she’s good enough for Tom alone, do you?” he questioned. “No, no. She will be shared by my heir and the son of my most influential supporter.”

With a wave of his wand, Hermione was clothed again, but in something of a sheet. She fell to her knees and Tom and Draco went to get her to her feet again.

“Go on!” Voldemort cackled. “Go take your new toy and have fun!”

*****

“What have you done?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll fix it.”

“I don’t think you can fix this one, Tom.”

*****

Tom slipped inside his bedroom at Malfoy Manor where Hermione was waiting. She was curled up underneath a blanket, clutching it close to herself as she watched him come in. No one was checking whether or not Tom and Draco were doing with her as was expected, so Hermione spent most of her days in Tom’s room trying to figure out a way to get out of the Manor. But when she got a good look at Tom’s face and saw how solemn he looked, she had a bad feeling.

“He wants to see you,” he told her. “Well, he wants to see us. All three of us.”

Hermione winced. “I suppose he doesn’t want to just see the three of us all snug in bed,” she remarked. “Does Draco know?”

“He was standing right next to me when he demanded it.”

“Well,” Hermione swallowed. “Let’s give him a good show.”

*****

Everything seemed very ceremonial, in Hermione’s opinion. She entered the bedchamber first, wearing nothing but a plain white shift. Voldemort was already in the room, as were some of his most trusted Death Eaters. The others were off dealing with some little faction of the Order. 

Tom and Draco entered next, wearing their usual clothes. They both embraced her, touching her and exploring her as she had told them to do earlier. 

She moaned when she should have, touched them where she should have, whimpered when she should have. Tom and Draco were soon undressed, ready to do as the Dark Lord had ordered. The three of them had agreed that Tom would take Hermione first, what with the reality being he was her husband. 

“Now,” Hermione breathed in his ear, the word being interpreted differently by everyone in the room.

“ _Accio_ Elder Wand!” Tom shouted, holding his right hand out. Draco jumped out of the way, falling into the pile of robes he and Tom had discarded, while Hermione sat up and watched Tom turn on Voldemort. Part of her was surprised it actually worked.

Ever overconfident, Voldemort simply cackled.

“You can’t kill me, boy,” he drawled. 

“Oh really?” Tom asked, feigning naïveté. “As it just so happens, I can. _Avada Kedavra_!” 

The body fell backward and in the chaos no one knew what to do. A rogue spell flew this way or that, but none of them could hit their mark. Bellatrix was shrieking for someone to kill Tom, but no one seemed to have the nerve. One of Voldemort’s outstretched hands toppled a vase over, the water splashing at Tom’s feet as it crashed to the ground. Among the shattered glass and water floated delicate white lilies and branches of laurel, a small burst of life surrounded by death.

The chaos continued as members of the Order burst into the room, stunning as many Death Eaters as they could. Ron stared in shock at Tom, who stood over Voldemort’s lifeless body with a look of utter contempt on his face, not caring about his own nakedness.

As Shacklebolt and the other Ministry officials gathered up Death Eaters who were attempting to flee, Hermione walked up behind Tom and draped a heavy blanket over his shoulders. 

“It’s over,” she sighed.

“No,” Tom said, looking down at the Elder Wand. “It’s only just begun.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy ending happy ending happy ending!
> 
> Did you guys pick up on all the symbolism in that ending? There’s some religious imagery, some mythological imagery, etc... fun fun.
> 
> Did you like Gryffindor Tom? Would you like to see more of him? Did you like this style of one-shot or was it too jarring at times? Please let me know!


End file.
